


Desiderium

by Buttercup_Bee



Series: Pedro Pascal Character Collection [3]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Steve Murphy, Period-Typical Sexism, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Smut, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29720010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_Bee/pseuds/Buttercup_Bee
Summary: Sara Murphy; a great partner, an excellent DEA agent, and as motivated to capture Pablo Escobar as Javier is. Though, as time passes, they learn co-workers often develop physical and emotional bonds. Both of which neither are immune to.
Relationships: Steve Murphy/Gustavo Gaviria, Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Series: Pedro Pascal Character Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032768
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	Desiderium

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling off in my head since I first started watching the show. I couldn't help it anymore after a few friends bullied me, so here we are! The story will deter a fair amount in regards to Sara/Steve and Javier due to what I have planned. I really, really hope anyone who decides to take a chance on this likes it!

The last thing Sara expected from her first night in Columbia hadn’t been this; cheek pressed up against an old, sullen bar-house in a jaunty alleyway. Her back flush against a complete stranger, his mouth on the column of her throat, and fingers trailing past the waistline of her panties.

In her defense, it’d been a long twelve hours. From the holdup at the airport, the boxes she still had to finish unpacking, and the lack of sleep made her amenable. 

In any other situation, Sara would be as far from here as possible. Not just the bar, but the situation as a whole.

Sara couldn’t risk her reputation after working so hard to build one, having worked twice as hard as her co-workers. Alone at night in a foreign country was a recipe for disaster. But the moment she heard a passerby in her new apartment building mention this bar; cheap, good beer, edible food, and on rare occasion live music? 

Well, she couldn’t help herself. She needed an out, so she settled Leo, her snappy feline, in and left. Sara had no intentions beyond getting a few drinks in, maybe some dinner, then returning home. 

The goal further imprinted when more than a few men made a pass at her. It didn’t help that she couldn’t speak Spanish - something she really should have learned. 

They just didn’t understand the word no, and she’d been ready to ditch the last man who approached her. But then he spoke, his low rasp made of honeyed whiskey, fluent in English as well. 

He bought her a drink, some food, and spoke to her. He was far more charming than he had any right to be, and it didn’t help that he’d been so easy on the eyes. 

Crisp, hard lines sculpted his features. A deep set of burnt cedar pools, lapsed in long lashes only served to entrance Sara. He had a hawkish nose that while on its own, might be considered unattractive, only further imbued his appeal. 

Plush lips, sharp jaw, and a mustache that somehow felt right. And God, Sara had the most inane need to run her fingers through his hair. 

His genuine interest in her as a person is what sealed the deal, he’d asked for her education, her job - the one thing she’d lied on, claiming to be in telecommunications - and this man didn’t deter her. He accepted what she’d done, respected it even, and it wasn’t for show. What really grounded her was his withdrawal when she’d intoned her distaste in his flirting. The man honest to god stopped. He didn’t question it, call her names, or attempted to convince her otherwise. 

Of course, Sara in all her genius, threw her inhibitions out the proverbial window. She hadn’t skimmed the suggestion, having dragged him out the side door, and ensured he knew her mind had changed. 

And here they are now, a man who she doesn’t even know the name of mouthing her neck, two thick fingers sinking into her weeping cunt. Sara is grateful she kept her little, teal sundress on, even after she’d arrived at her new home. 

It made for easy access, which she needed in this moment, what he needed. His fingers feel thicker than they look, which says more than less, the broad stretch forcing Sara to lean back into him, head falling atop his shoulder in a soft moan. 

“That’s it,” he mutters, curling his fingers inwards, pulling them taut and languidly twisting until she’s covered head to toe in gooseflesh, then begins a steady pump, “let me hear you.” 

Sara holds back a laugh, though her smile breaches any restraint that remained, “You want people to find us?” she jokes, southern lilt masking her incredulous undertone. 

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out, lets the space empty then plunges back in - scissoring outwards. Sara huffs, containing a mewl begging to be released, and he leans in, tightens his grip at her hip with his free hand, and snickers. 

“If I wanted them to know,” he drawls, pressing up against her most sensitive walls, emanating a shiver from her, and he messages the nerve in satisfaction, “they’d already have heard you screaming.” Sara desperately wants to deny his claims, but the evidence is there. She’s already a mess, a writhing plaything in his grasp, and nothing can change that. 

The speed of his fingers build momentum, a defined tension coiling in at her abdomen; liquid fire stemming from her sex. 

He’s working hard, long strokes encouraging a high fever, a pleading dissonance in need of release. Arching back into him, she whines out, her pitch climbing when his free limb finds a home at her breast, squeezing the meld in a tremor filled appreciation. 

The groan he emits is the first she’s heard, it’s deep, unadulterated lust carving a path down at her core. He jerks, hips closing in hot, his hard length rigid against Sara’s back. Careful to not allow another moan, a sigh slips instead, lips slant open in one part exhaustion and two parts ardor. 

When his pace becomes unbearable, wading through slick and muffled mewls, Sara’s hips buck down onto the pressure; a desolate admission of his effect on her and all she was in this moment. His touch spurring a life of its own until she’s wavering, the deft twirl of his twin digits remitting pleasure. 

Grinding down onto him, she comes, her slick coating his open palm as he helps her ride out her orgasm. Breathless, her weight is full against his figure, legs near trembling under the waves of her release.

His pride is tangible, it clings to her like glue even as he pulls his hand from her. And she’s shocked when he licks at his fingers, her essence coating them, moaning as he does so. Sucking hard, and when released a distinct pop is heard. Sara can’t help the ripple is drafts at her core, clenching around nothing at the sight, the sound. 

She buries her face into his neck, breathes him in, all cinnamon, whiskey, and smoke. It’s far more captivating than she would ever have anticipated. And she doesn’t regret her decision taking him out back. 

This man knew what he was doing, that much was obvious, and his charm and cocksure personality wasn’t made out of thin air. Which Sara is grateful for. The last thing she wanted was for a smug, easy going man to struggle with her exploitive affections. 

Sara wants more. More than his soft berating kisses, the lap of his tongue, she wants him inside her. To feel what he has to offer, and maybe forget the life altering job she’d taken here in the first place. 

Pulled from the worries of what there would be to come, his touch absorbs her further, grounding into her ass at a heady draw. His hard length is defined even behind the thick cover of his jeans, his girth a rush that shoots to her core upon recognition. 

“Should we take this to my car?” he inquires, suddenly pinching at her bud without pretense, and further enhances the sensation in speeding up his ministrations, the grind of his hips fluent beside her own. 

Sara can’t think, not with liquid fire coursing through her veins. Rather, she presses all her weight into him, savoring his contact, his warmth; how long has it been since someone touched her like this? Like her contentment mattered? It’s heaven personified. 

Biting at her lip, jerking into him, the oncoming of a storm waiting to happen, Sara mewls. 

“If you’d like,” she intones, half sardonic, half genuine. And she thinks she might come again, his calloused digits imprinting at her clit just right, folding, pattering, drawing it out longer than he had just before, and the tight burn swells. Her legs quiver, unable to maintain any semblance of control when he begins a tandem of his straining cock barreling at her backside, and his fingers determining a rough, palpable goal in getting her to spout. 

He dips, pinky streaming along her seam as he does, and doesn’t hold back when he digs hard and fast. His circular motion has her heaving, completely dependent on his strength, his support, and when the heat sprawls throughout her person, she slackens. 

Moaning out loudly, quaking, he helps Sara once more in steering her afterglow. A slow juncture that has her spilling further, moving at her own volition until she’s whimpering into the nape of his neck. There isn’t any discourse then, no demand she do the same or more. Sara expected to be forced down on her knees, his cock enveloped in her mouth until she choked. 

Or less likely, she smooths his length in her palm, cup his balls until he came and spattered against her clothed midsection. 

No, he relishes the moment, allows it to seep into the atmosphere with a smirk. Nothing about this man is what she expected from a quick fuck. He isn’t ordering her about, and he certainly wasn’t crossing any boundaries, or focusing merely on himself. Which happened to be the case in most circumstances. 

He’s so much more than that, Sara realizes this when he’s got a palm at her back pushing her down, the distant reconnaissance of his belt being undone. Sara’s never been so eager for a man’s cock, to have him brimful and hot. 

Sure, she’s had dalliances, relationships, but men tend to be selfish. Rude even, if she didn’t extend more than what he’d given. How she’d lucked out with a man interested in her release, let alone her pleasure, was pure fortune, and she wasn’t about to question it. 

Sara doesn’t see it, but she feels it, his broad length flitting against her inner thigh. Unconsciously, Sara parts her legs further, dips down until her back is at a solemn curve and she feels the rush of Colombia’s nightly chill. 

The slick seeping from her cunt is one to be treasured, her arousal gleaming at the inner dips of her thighs, further entrenched when his cock glides at her folds in earnest. Arching her hips upwards to better accommodate him, and perhaps even give him a view, he growls deep in his chest. 

“No,” he finally answers, “I want you now.” 

She nods then, looking over her shoulder to meet his gaze, a glint of satisfaction glistening in his complexion. 

“Do it,” Sara hums, pushing against his member, torrential in her desire. It’s no shock, Sara is impulsive, and while it paid off most times, in this moment she faintly worries, if at all, this might be a mistake. Then again, she hadn’t had a good fuck in years. Let alone satisfying, and he’d already gotten her to come twice. Another one would set her for the next six months. 

Far too aware this night would come into play when she would return to an empty bed and her fingers or toys. The real thing just couldn’t be matched, and it had nothing to do with the feel of it. No, it all depended on the touch, the slather of affection or heat. 

And he was a storm. Plasma wasn’t fiction, it was the man behind her, and she whimpers when he positions her lower. Bent over, ass in the air, back arched, and the late night drift cooling at her soaking folds.

There isn’t any warning, not when he jabs his fingers back inside her. It isn’t the two she’d grown accustomed two, but three, the bulk of them painful and rapturing all at once. He doesn’t waste what time they have, controlling the pace once more, encouraging her to be louder, to scream if need be, despite her dislike of it, and mutual interest. 

He halts abruptly, withdraws his fingers, the faint ripple of a condom wrapper and movement sounding behind her - the notion over in seconds as he glides the head of his cock against her seam. Sara puffs, hands braced against the wall, and a long, hollow breath is stolen from her when he drives into her. 

No pretense loitered, the mystery man bottoming out, and he’s far larger than she could have imagined. It almost hurts, having him inside, his expansion pulls her taut with a voiceless moan. 

His shaft nudges at her cervix, pours over her in ways that only makes her want more. And he’s kind, ensuring she accustoms herself to his size. _He knows_ , Sara frowns, _he knows he’s big._ With a personality like his, as she assumes it to be, this would only serve to encourage it. Sara clenches around him, unable to shield her inexperience in something as rare as a dalliance, as well as her excitement. 

The noises pulled from him then are ungodly, his chest heavy at her back within seconds, mouth just on the mast of her pulse. 

Sighing out in satisfaction, the man nips at her jaw, “So fucking tight,” he amends, voice steady, assured. Sara can’t even begin to compose his lust, it’s effect pooling in her stomach while he himself is lost to her heat. 

Impatience prods at her sternum, shimmying her hips against him in an effort to hurry him up. He gets the memo, retreating for a moment as he straightens to his full height, allowing the tension to build, then buries himself in one, harsh thrust. All the air is punched from her lungs, nothing but a pitiful gasp leaving her. 

He groans again, her reaction steadily beating at his eager tandem, pace picking up with each brutal barge. By god, does he feel divine. Every ridge, vein, and pulse relays something primal; Sara clamps, unable to stop herself, closing her eyes as each motion overwhelms her, swallows her whole. 

Sara’s already sensitive, more than she’d like to be in this instance, on a bridge teetering between falling and keeping balance. It doesn’t take long, if not at all any time, for his angle to find that fragile, _oh_ so tender spot. 

Breathily, Sara mutters _right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop._

Gritting teeth, effort dispensed in plunging patterns, his hands crown her hips, squeezing impossibly tight. There’ll be bruises, she’ll wake up tomorrow morning with splotches of violet, hazel, and a litter of light yellow. It only serves Sara in a mewl, a long, desperate one that has her partner devastate her further. 

“Fuck,” he curses, his right palm climbing her hip to blanket her breast, “do you know how great you feel?” he kneads both her hip and mound, the never ending hitch of his shaft stripping her of another whine. 

“How fucking good those noises sound?” Sara whimpers when his hand leaves her breast, his large, warm fist clutching at her throat. It isn’t uncomfortable, just enough pressure for Sara to slacken more, his sheath beginning to fuck her raw, “your little moans hermosa, those sounds you make will get you only so far before I decide to keep you all night.”

The suggestion might have alarmed her at any other time. But right now, they were hollow, nothing. A moment of bliss in this lapse of night, this little alleyway would be the only to hear him. To pack in the image, the declaration would merely paint the brick walls and ingrain itself deep inside the muddied ground. No one had to know what he’d said. 

He was lost in her, just as much as she was lost in him, and that’s what this sort of act does to people. Though Sara is a fool, even as she attempts to meet his propulsion, it’s her response that will leave her ashamed later on. 

“Then do it,” she bites, looking over her shoulder, rosy cheeks, swollen lips, and he’s a goner. His grip is all the more bruising, hauling her against his chest. Carelessly, his fingers stroke at her clit, Sara squeaking at the intrusion. 

Acute, frail, her aching bud inflamed; it’s outreach coursing from deep within her core to the flutter of her chest. All that’s needed to throw her off that edge. Violently awash, she spasms, writhes, rolling into his cock as she comes hard, searching for purchase at his forearm. 

“That’s it,” he hisses, his momentum hastened within the confines of her pussy, and she can sense his own release on the verge of their summit, “such a good girl.” 

Pulsating, he chases after his fall, Sara humming in encouragement. When he does, a half dozen more thrusts of a deep, unadulterated high, he’s jerking into her wildly. His hand wrings at her neck, palm back at her breast to feel her out. A distant part of herself wishes he’d been bare, a ridiculous, torrent notion that would have done nothing good in the long run. That doesn’t ease her desire, the enticing image of his spend filling her, coating her thighs. 

She doesn’t pend on it any longer, exhaustion claiming her body. And he’s smelling her, face smothered in her sunlit curls. Experimentally, she hugs his softening cock in a gentle squeeze, her partner huffing out half a laugh and moan. 

“You want more already?” feather-light fingers skim up to her jaw, twisting her head to meet his gaze. He looks just as tired as she feels, a lazy smile drooping at his plush lips, and he kisses her. It’s almost loving, a strewn dance that blurs a line Sara hadn’t realized was there. 

He moves to peck her cheek, nuzzles there until he’s back at the crook of her neck, breathing her in once more. She can hear him doing so, a shiver running down her spine when he groans. 

A moment passes, he nibbles the lobe of her ear, and whispers, “I’d love to give you more, but I don’t want to do that here. Is my car an option for you, hermosa?” Sara nods despite herself, knowing full well she had to be up bright and early. But god, did she want more, so badly she was willing to spend the night in this man’s car until sunrise.

Sara’s never been known for her methodical process, but her stubborn fire. 

“Yeah,” 

“Follow me,” he’s pulling out, tucking himself back in his jeans as Sara shakily stands, working at her dress, “I’ll take care of you.”

—–

Sara aches, muscles and joints alike creaking when she hops out of her Ford Pinto, it’s light blue sheen in the sunlight making her wince. Locking her car, she starts towards the embassy with a slow, steady pace. 

Every part of her twinges, though pleasant, makes it hard to focus and she worries she might have a difficult time getting around today. Even now she can feel his mark, especially at her hips. She was right in there being a leftover indentation of his efforts. When Sara had made it home, she’d drawn a bath, soaking for what felt like hours while she admired the bruises. They were muddled under the sheen of water, but still shone despite it. 

A blessed breeze swings throughout the area just as Sara enters the building. Her new partner was supposed to be there to welcome their newest agent, show her around. Sara frowns when no one is there, scanning the massive foyer in confusion. 

With a knit brow she walks over to the front desk, a plump, comely, young woman manning the sanction. 

“Excuse me,” she begins, her southern melody immediately grabbing the woman’s attention, “I’m agent Murphy, I was hoping, if it’s possible, you could point me in the direction in where I might find agent Peña?” 

“No need,” a man from behind intones, his baritone eerily familiar. Sara gives the lovely woman a calm smile despite her rising horror, staving off from turning around, even as he adds, “sorry for the wait, I got caught up on a call.” 

It couldn’t be possible, Sara reasons, thinking on her residual pang deep inside her. The general gnaw at her body whenever she moves. It just wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be. Sara refused to think about it, what were the odds? Slim to none. 

Slowly, Sara pivots to face the man who is meant to be her leading agent in their hunt for Escobar. It’s like slow motion when she meets his attention, those warm, chocolate dipped eyes widening a fraction when they take her in. Sara’s mouth purses open, just as Javier Peña masks his shock with a frown. 

Of course it’s just her luck that the man she intended to only be a one night stand was her work partner. It was hard enough to work in her field as a woman, and it feels like she ended her career before it could really begin. If he said a word to anyone she’d lose everything, the little respect she’d gained, her endless years of work; _all of it._

He holds out a hand, Sara dropping her head to examine it. Thick fingers, unbelievably large, and they’d been inside her just last night. Wincing, she shakes it, retreating as if she’d just been burnt the second she could.

“Well,” he lifts his chin, picking at his slacks, “let me show you around.”

_Shit._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Any form of appreciation would be awesome!!


End file.
